Shelter
by spyder-m
Summary: Post-interrogation. As Makoto tries to patch up Joker's injuries, it becomes apparent that he was not the only one left scarred. Originally written for Day 4 of Shumako Week: Protect / Heal


Shelter

Makoto had suspected that Ren's interrogation would be rough.

The police were desperately trying to find the culprit behind the Psychotic Breakdowns, with little to no evidence to draw upon. All the while their reputation was suffering. At this point, it wouldn't have surprised her if they were simply trying to force a confession.

She had heard of suspects being in held in questioning for hours on end, deprived of rest and sustenance.

She wondered if they honestly cared about doing what was just, finding the true culprit, or they were more concerned with finding answers for the sake of themselves, rather than the betterment of society.

It saddened Makoto to think of what the justice system had become, and how her father would have felt if he had been alive to see it.

A message had come through earlier from Sis, warning her that Ren was in bad shape. Makoto could vividly recall the lump that settled in her throat as she read it back, hoping it would be enough to brace her for what was to come.

Yet, as the bell to Leblanc chimed, stifle the gasp leaving her throat. Immediately, she was drawn to the cuts and bruises littering his face, some still seeping with fresh trails of blood. His uniform was stained with dirt and boot marks, speaking of the scars that were hidden from them.

Ren's hand rose in a lazy greeting as he was helped into Leblanc, his eyes overcome momentarily by a look of genuine relief. Relief in finally being broken out of that underground interrogation, in knowing that their plan had worked.

Yet, there was a large part of it born out of concern for his friends. He was happy to see them again and to know that they had escaped Sis' palace unharmed. Makoto could only wonder what lies he had been fed about them. That they too had been captured? Maybe even killed?

His concern for the others always seemed to take priority.

As his friends crowded around him, pulsing with equal measures happiness and concern, Ren did his best to ease their worry with familiar, light-hearted replies.

"How are you feeling?"

"I mean, I died."

Makoto wasn't fooled.

With Akechi uncovering their identities and leading the police straight too them, they needed to act quickly. They couldn't afford dwell for too long, when their lives may still be in danger. For that purpose, Ren was putting on a brave face, trying to brush off the severity of his injuries and the abuse he had suffered.

Though, if the past months were any indication, Makoto didn't feel it was healthy to bury such emotions.

She had seen her own sister slip into a shadow of herself after years of trying to suppress her grief. With the way they fought in the cognitive world, their mental well-being was arguably just as important as anything else.

It was sad, but in doing his utmost to look out for the team's best interests, Ren very well could have been putting them in danger.

Makoto couldn't allow someone else she cared for to fall into the same, dangerous pattern. No matter their reasons.

.

By the time they had explained the details of their plan to Sis and Boss, the sun was already beginning to set.

Realising how late it was, the others agreed to adjourn their meeting for the day. They would need to set their next steps in motion soon, but it wouldn't do for them to exhaust themselves. They could continue planning after they were well rested and had cleared their heads.

As she prepared to leave, Makoto couldn't help but continue to watch Ren, his eyes hazy and unfocused as if traces of the drug were still lingering in his system. A sense that he wasn't quite looking directly at her.

Noticing her forlorn expression, Ren slipped into a ghost of a smile, perhaps to reassure her. His lips remained set, a frown still marring her face. He had hoped the gesture would calm her, but all she could focus on was the cut on his lip.

Ren's smiles were usually softer, subtler. This one, somehow, stretched too far across his face but didn't managed to meet his eyes.

It was forced. A mask that didn't quite fit.

She could sense that he was scared.

Even in the Metaverse, with the outfits they wore, the one part of him that had never been hidden were his eyes. The gateway to his true self.

Under different circumstances, Makoto might have felt self-conscious leading Ren upstairs to the attic. They had been in his room together many times before, with Leblanc frequently serving as a hideout for their operations, but never this late.

Certainly, never alone.

She had a feeling her sister would have questions.

For now, Makoto paid the thought no mind, her attention devoted solely to Ren and fixing him up.

She knew she couldn't bring to the Bathhouse to get clean. For his safety, it was best that he remained in hiding. Besides, his condition would raise suspicion. There was the bathroom downstairs, but she didn't want to leave a mess for Boss.

Settling Ren at the foot of his bed, her hands lightly traced his face with a damp washcloth, faltering every time his skin tightened, a sharp breath breaking from his lips.

He realised Makoto was trying to help, and bit his lip, trying to stifle the gasps of pain, not wanting her to feel guilty. Yet, there was little he could do to hide the spasms, the involuntary shocks that racked his body with each ache.

Breathing in harshly, Makoto set the cloth aside, having cleaned him as best as she could. Her hands rose and unconsciously she called upon Anat to cast Diarama.

The voice was faint, barely registering to her, and the familiar energy that would usually follow was dormant. Her hands dipped, suddenly realising her mistake.

They weren't in the Metaverse.

The real world had stripped Makoto of her powers. Much like it had severed her from her true self. And even if she could summon Anat, the injuries Ren had sustained were real; not a part of a cognition. Her persona's healing, likely, wouldn't work.

She was dragged back to that time in June, the incident with Kaneshiro. How useless she had felt back then, completely powerless to change the situation.

Since first utilising her persona, and helping the Phantom Thieves, Makoto had thought that sense of helplessness was behind her.

Their loss of power was no more apparent then what she saw in Ren. Their suave, confident leader was broken, abruptly slipping back into the battered, scared body of an ordinary, teenage boy.

Determined, Makoto's lips brushed against the bruise staining his cheek, hoping that her heart could still reach him, and heal him in another way.

Ren flinched reflexively under her touch. The wounds were relatively fresh, and his body still tense from the pain he had endured; unwilling to endanger any of his friends. He hadn't allowed his guard to slip entirely.

There was a moment before he could allow himself to trust that touch, to understand that it wasn't intended to hurt him.

Her hand stroked his face, gently coaxing him. The longer her caress lingered, the ache gradually soothed. Gradually, his defenses were lowered, and he moved in, finding comfort in the familiar, loving motions.

Over and over, Makoto's lips were drawn to his face. Tracing over his jaw, his cheeks, his eyelids.

From the moment Ren had been convicted to Tokyo, he had been scorned and looked down upon, simply for trying to do what was right. With each brush, Makoto sought to undo each trace of abuse, to shower Ren with the care, the love he truly deserved.

Though, as she continued, she sensed that some part of her was seeking relief, trying reassure herself that Ren was here, solid and real.

Ren was alive.

"It's okay, Makoto." Ren spoke eventually, his hands steadying her shoulders.

She hadn't noticed the way they were shaking, nor the burning in her eyes. Her fists coiled firmly at her sides, hard enough that she could feel her nails breaking through skin.

"No." She shook her head bitterly. "Nothing about this is okay. We were supposed to keep you safe."

Shifting, Ren's hands framed her face, drawing her gaze upward. Gently, his head dipped, forehead resting against her own.

In the silence that followed, Makoto could make out the steady cadence of his breathing. The exhales lightly dusted against her skin as she concentrated on that soothing pattern, allowing it to drown out everything else.

It grounded her, calming the unease that had festered.

With how closely Ren lingered, she was able to look past the scars staining his skin, to make out the genuine sincerity resting in his eyes.

"You did. It's thanks to all of you that I'm alive."


End file.
